Free Edge of Destiny by J. Robert King Page A

steps forward. “You are a genius. But could you put some gray stones in a necklace for me and a collar for Garm?”
    “Of course,” Snaff replied offhandedly, but then said, “You know, nobody else has this technology. Everybody else is making golems without heads !”
    Eir feigned shock. “No!”
    Snaff nodded deeply. “Their golems fumble around, while mine combine the genius of an asura with the power of a titan! Nobody can do this stuff!”
    “They all think he’s cracked,” Zojja explained flatly as she jumped down from the belly of her golem. “I agree. Sometimes.”
    Eir laughed ruefully. “So, is everything ready?”
    “Everything except the head of my golem,” Snaff said. “You can put that into place while I get your gray-stone necklace and collar made. Then we’ll have a meal and a rest, and tomorrow—”
    “We march on the Dragonspawn.”
    She headed back toward the worktables, lifted the huge head of Big Snaff, and slid it into position atop his metalwork body. When the stone base contacted the metal frame, loops of steel rose to engage the stone shoulders and clamp down tightly. Then Eir had only to set a powerstone in the head of the creature. It fused with the basalt, sinking in and rooting.
    Big Snaff sat up.
    Eir set the other powerstone, and Big Zojja rose, too.
    Garm and Eir stood between those towering creatures. Snaff and Zojja wandered over to join them. They stared in wonder at what they had wrought.
    “There is a certain sick calm before battle,” Eir said. “The panic of the heart that something has been left undone, that we are not ready for this.” She looked at the two asura, only rising waist high, and at her wolf, who rose only to her ribs. “We are ready.”
    Snaff clapped his hands once and then rubbed them eagerly. “Then let’s feast.”
    A pig turned on a spit within the laboratory’s ironwork forge, and among the coals below, potatoes nestled in chain-mail sleeves. Wild onions and butter-soaked leeks simmered in iron skillets. Cornflower cakes rose on the hearth, and little pitchers of honey and gravy warmed there, as well.
    The four warriors lined up along the hearth and loaded pewter plates with this bounty. Then they gathered around the great stone table where Big Zojja had been built. Even Garm had a place. Though their plates were heaped with smoked pork and caramelized onions and leeks and cornflower cakes, they sat in silence, unsure what to say.
    At last, Eir spoke. “Spirit of Wolf,” she breathed, her voice husky in the hot jungle air. “Spirit of Bear and Snow Leopard and Raven, we eat this meal tonight in preparation for war tomorrow. We fight not just for the norn but for you, for all races. Be with us. Help us prevail against the Dragonspawn.”
    With those words, the spell of regret over them all was shattered. They ate and talked and laughed but did not speak of what the dawn might bring.
    •     •     •     
    The first red glow of sunrise filtered through the skylight of Snaff’s laboratory and shone across his two massive golems: a twenty-foot-tall Snaff and an eighteen-foot-tall Zojja. Both stood with their cockpit hatches open, ready for their drivers to climb in.
    “Well, my dear,” Snaff said, “let’s take them for a spin.”
    Zojja gave a rare smile and clambered up the leg of her golem, into the cockpit.
    Snaff climbed up as well, pulling the cockpit hatch closed behind him. He stepped into the spherical cage and strapped himself into the leather harness. Leaning toward a speaking tube, he shouted, “Can you hear me?” His voice rang through the metal.
    A tinny reply came: “Yes.”
    “Make sure you fit the straps securely. We’re going to get jostled. And make sure your laurel is tightly in place.”
    “Yes, Father,” Zojja said sarcastically.
    Snaff slid the laurel onto his head. The jewels on the gold band glowed to life, and the metal affixed to Snaff’s skull. He blinked as his eyes lost focus in the